If you know
my music, you probably expect the
words "rain" or "water" or "wind" or
the name of a season to be in every
song. Am I right? Obviously, I have
no problem repeating myself when it
comes to singing about the weather.
Natural Elements fill all my songs
and most of my conversations.

Today I was
walking a few miles in Seattle
neighborhoods. There is a long,
circuitous route that I have walked
for over a decade, starting at close
to the highest point in Seattle and
winding down a long road to Lake
Washington, then meandering up a
long hill and back to my truck. We
had a lot of snow last week and it's
mostly gone, which has left
thousands of puddles of water around
the city. As I walked I couldn't
help but remember what a puddle of
water was to me as a boy living in
Dumas and Amarillo on the dusty
Texas plains. We'd go months without
rain sometimes and so when it
finally came, the ground was so dry
that it would not soak in right
away. There would be puddles and
rivulets rushing down the gutter.
These were rivers and lakes to me.
You could not keep me in the house
when there were rivers running down
the streets of our prairie town. I
was out there standing in the
current, my toes flexing, my heart
pounding at the excitement of what
water felt like, what it looked
like, the way it distorted stones
and items lying in it and the way it
reflected the sky. Anything that
stood beyond it was captured by it,
reflected back to me in duplicate,
only shinier and more shimmering
than the actual object.

As I hiked
today I let myself remember my
childhood. One way to remember who
you were is to simply be who you are
now, and notice how you feel right
this moment. If you ever try this
you will notice that when you pause
to notice how you feel, at the very
core of that part of you is the same
being you were as a little boy or
little girl. It's a wonder really,
that this could be, but it's true.
You are still the same inside your
most perfect being. It's only that
we gradually began to think that we
lost all that. We grieved for our
lost innocence, but actually, we
never really lost it. We just
learned to think about it and
dissect it and define it. And so we
lost the experience of being it.

Every
puddle I saw today I imagined
looking at as the boy I once was. I
stood looking into it, noticing the
stones you could see in it, or the
ripples across it's surface that the
bitter wind was whipping across the
land. In my boyhood no puddle was
immune to having a board thrown into
it and me standing on it and
pretending to be a pirate on his
stolen ship or a Mohawk warrior in
his canoe. It didn't have to be
fresh water, either. Once in
Amarillo, we lived next to a machine
shop. They poured nasty, oily
solvent-water out the back door into
a ditch. It was heavenly. I found a
greasy wooden pallet and though the
water was too shallow to actually
float it with me on it, I found a
high place in the ground beneath the
water and as it rocked with my
weight I would swipe my sword and
holler out what I thought one of the
Three Muskateers might announce in a
sword fight. "Take that, scoundrel!"
That little pond of petroleum was
blood red when I was through
wreaking havoc.

While I have
never known a time when I was not a
lover of water, there have been a
few short periods of my life when I
was not a walker. Actually, I think
the only time was maybe in my late
teens into my early twenties. In
those days you drive everywhere
because you've waited so long to get
your own car and be free to drive
it, that you don't like to go back
to the drudgery of hoofing it. It
feels beneath you. I was living in
Fort Worth and some friends from
Amarillo had moved two blocks away
on my same street, Purington. Even
at 23, I could not justify driving
to their house, so I began to walk
to their house and back most days.
The way home was always slightly
more hazy due to the effects of
marijuana. (second hand smoke) To my
surprise, the ground and sidewalk
were fascinating to me. Childhood
had been so recent that all the
memories of walking to school in
first grade, in third and fifth and
all through Junior High came pouring
out. The detail of a stick on the
sidewalk, the smell of fresh cut
grass, a caterpillar crossing the
concrete, all those things came back
to me and I decided I would never
again forget the joy of walking, the
pure pleasure of being able to go
where I want on my own two feet.

I
was hiking along a river trail with
my friend Brian a few days ago.
There was still snow and the going
was a little precarious. But the
woods were magnificent with their
patches of snow and the rust colored
leaves and grasses peaking out in
the bare spots. The tall trunks were
spindly and slender and in their
upper branches were hundreds of
black crows calling out. I looked at
Brian and said, "Walking is my
favorite thing to do in the world."
He seemed surprised, even though he
too walks nearly every day. "I just
feel so much gratitude and peace
when I walk."

After I
reached the top of the long hill
today, a little sweaty in my
windbreaker and hat, I took them off
and walked the last mile on flat
ground with the wind behind me. The
chill wind felt good to me now and I
wanted to dry out before I reached
my truck. In the last couple of
months before my sweet pup died last
summer, this was a route I would
take with her most Sundays. I would
carry her on my right forearm, close
to my chest and where I could talk
to her and even lift her little
being up every so often and kiss the
back of her head. I held my arm as
if I were carrying her, spoke a few
words in case she can still hear me,
and made the motion to kiss her
little head. I felt grateful for her
life, for the time I was allowed to
have her as my friend, and for the
miles and miles and miles we'd
walked around Seattle and the
beautiful places in the Pacific
Northwest.

I stood
looking into a very beautiful puddle
with a few leaves sunk in it and
some mossy rocks shimmering beneath
the surface. I thought of how water
has been my soul's love. How I hear
water in my melodies, allowing the
notes to meander and flow in the
ways of a trickling stream. And I
realized how much I aspire for my
whole life to be like water. I wish
my compassion to be as ever flowing
as a river. I wish for my patience
to be as eternal as the steady
ripples lapping the shore of a
mountain lake. I wish for my love to
be as permeating and steady as rain
soaking into the earth, seeking
every possible pore and crevasse to
enter and nurture life. And I wish
for my forgiveness to be as healing
and natural as the fragrance of
spring rain, reawakening buds and
roots and seeds and bringing
memories of how life was when I was
young and filled with all that
wonder. I know that child is still
inside me. He is me.

If you should
spot a man standing next to a little
puddle of rain water, one arm tucked
up against his chest almost as if he
was holding onto something precious,
talking and chuckling and staring
into the depths of that miracle
water, it's probably me.

Your friend in
windy Seattle,~Michael

As always,
anything I post on FaceBook is yours
to share, post, print out and toss
into the wind.

March 12, 2012

Howdy my
friends,

Its the first Monday
after going to daylight savings
time and I'm up before the
birdies. The reason? Because I'm
excited about the inaugural
launch of Sutherland Living
Magazine, featuring an interview
with President Jimmy Carter and
including a photo montage paired
with my song, Seeds of Love,
which I wrote as' a tribute to
Jimmy. I've been really
looking forward to this since
Stephen Sutherland and I became
acquainted a few weeks ago and the
idea blossomed to include my song in
their first issue.

Last year
I wrote the song as a tribute to
President Jimmy Carter, for an event
honoring him in Atlanta. It was a
daunting task, because the timeline
was short, but also because I have
loved and admired Jimmy since I
first came to know of him in the
1970s and wanted to do something
worthy of him. I hoped I could do it
in a way that honored the man who
has given so much to humanity and
our country.

I read Jimmy's
memoir of his boyhood in Plains,
called, "An Hour Before Daylight".
And the first lyrics came to me. . .

From old Savannah, you can drive
two hundred milesOr from
Atlanta, just about two hours time
To the plains where I was born Where
my daddy had a farm The year of
nineteen-twenty-four"

Every day for two weeks I would pick
up my guitar over and over again,
looking for what was trying to be
written, listening to the nuance of
the melody flowing through me and
seeking a way to write about Jimmy
that was sincere, poetic and
personal. When I realized that I was
singing from his voice it was
humbling, but the most natural way
for me to pour my heart fully into
each word. I was able somehow to
imagine being him, feeling the
richness of walking fertile farmland
barefoot, the wonder of seeing the
Seaboard Airline Railroad run past
his boyhood home and the joy of
walking those rails with his best
friend, A.D. Especially, I felt his
deep and tender love for Rosalyn.
And so these feelings I imagined him
having flowed into the song.

I grew up and I became a Navy
manThen I
asked my lovely Rosalyn for her
handOf all
the luck I ever had and every
blessing that has beenShe's the
truest one, Oh my gentle loving
friendI'd live
it all with you if I could
again. . .

After I finished writing it, I
had a short time to record it so
that it could be officially
presented to The Carter Center in
Atlanta. I was very pleased with the
feedback I received, but unsure of
whether Jimmy himself would ever
even hear the song. Over just one
month during that time, I'd heard
that he was in Cuba, the next week,
China, and the next, North Korea. I
couldn't picture him having a lot of
time to sit back and listen to CDs
that people send him. But I hoped
that someone who loves him would
hear the song. I believed if they
did that they would make certain
that he heard it as well.

Several weeks after I'd sent the
song, I was spending a quiet
Saturday afternoon here at my home
in Seattle. I heard the jangle of
the mail slot flap and looked over
and saw a small envelope fall
through my front door. Almost before
I picked it up I sensed that it was
something special. I turned it over
and saw that it was from Jimmy
Carter. I didn't open it at first,
just stood there looking at it and
thinking what an unlikely thing in
my life, that I would ever receive a
letter from President Jimmy Carter.

I opened it and pulled out a
small sheet of paper with Jimmy's
seal at the top, and read his words
thanking me for honoring him with my
song. I could see that he himself
had typed it, because there was one
small typo in it and also, when
signing it, he'd gone back with his
pen to add a comma he'd forgotten. I
knew no secretary had done that, and
it meant the world to me that Jimmy
Carter had sat down to write me
personally. I never had expected
that. At best, I thought I might
hear something from his office that
maybe he'd signed.

I stood
there with chills, thinking that
only a couple of months before I had
been hoping I could write a song
worthy of him and his life, and one
beautiful enough that you'd want to
listen to it more than once. And now
I was reading a letter from the
great man I'd written about, someone
who had inspired me and taught me
about life and integrity and giving
my whole adult life.

When I
saw recently that Sutherland Living
was interviewing Jimmy, I wrote to
the editor of the magazine, which
turned out to be Stephen Sutherland
himself, and said something like, "I
am pleased that you are interviewing
Jimmy Carter for your first issue.
If there is any way that my song may
serve you, I'd love for you to have
free use of it."

I had no
idea how well received my offer
would be. Stephen let me know that
they'd love to use the song in a
photo montage of Jimmy's life,
which Jun Sutherland has so
beautifully created. And then we
both decided that in keeping with
the life of giving which Jimmy has
so generously lived, we wanted to
offer the song as a complimentary
download on the Sutherland Living
website. I'm thrilled to be a part
of what they are doing with their
magazine and website, and especially
pleased that my song may play some
part in sharing the photographic
story of Jimmy Carter's life. You
can
watch the video here.

Thank you my friends, for reading my
early morning rambling on Seeds
of Love. I want to add this for
all who listen to and hopefully,
love this song: It would never have
been written if Patricia O'Driscoll
had not asked me to do so. Together
we dreamed it into being. As you
listen to the song, a part of what I
hope you'll experience is the
reminder of the great, wondrous
potential that can come in trusting
your own heart to attempt something
you are greatly drawn to, even if
you are not sure you can accomplish
it.

The early morning birds
have arrived now and seem amazed
that I'm up waiting for them. So I
must toss out some seeds and
peanuts. The peanuts are from
Plains, Georgia, of course. I hope
you're doing well this almost-spring
day and that you remember to take
some deep breaths now and then, and
to be kind to yourself.

Howdy my friends,Howdy my friends,Howdy my friends,

It's
been a long time since I sat
down to write a new website
rambling for you. Once I started
posting frequent stories and
humor on Facebook, I gradually
came to believe that most people
were checking in on me there.
However, I had a dream last
night that one million people
came to my website, saw that my
last entry was six months old,
and held a memorial for me. As
much as I enjoy festive affairs,
I'd like to actually be headed
out to the wild blue yonder when
my memorial is someday held. So
hold off on that. The truth is,
I'm in the middle of creating a
number of new projects right now
and can't be dawdlin' around
watching a slide show of my life
while a minister who never met
me tells about the time I helped
a little ol' lady go over
Niagara Falls in sleeping bag -
even though she didn't want to.
I
just got back from a visit to
Wyoming, where I sang a short
concert in honor of my friend,
Randall Hall, and even got in a
couple of hikes on the trails
along the Platte River. I hadn't
been in the shade of tall
cottonwoods in a long time, had
almost forgotten what it's like
to hike in country that dry. The
river was wide and blue and
inviting, and gazing from
alongside it, up the powder dry
caliche bluff and out over windy
yellow grasslands brought back a
lot of memories of my hiking and
camping in Palo Duro Canyon as a
young man. Wow, I was a young
man for a long time. And then I
wasn't. It's a fascinating
thing, this journey through life
that we take, isn't it?

A lot has changed in how I look
at life. Once you get far enough
into it, you start to see that
much of what you always thought
was tragic in life actually is
not. But to get to that point I
think you have to have some
sense that life goes on and on
in some form forever. And I do
sense that. You almost can't
lose someone you love and not
come to know that in your heart.It's been a little over a year
since my precious friend Bungee
died. She was a sweet little
dog, but so much more. You could
start a University based on what
she taught me and what I learned
as a result of having such a
fine being as my companion for
fifteen years. I found out many
things about myself. I found my
own gentleness in ways I had not
known. I found my own loyalty
and strength. Yes, I found a lot
of character too, because a big
man walking along a public
street with a six pound fuzzy
pooch on a leash is absolutely
going to have to build some
character.

I
learned a lot about grief in
this last year since her
passing. As you have, I have
experienced much grief in my
life. But I had never allowed
it's fullness to flow into and
through me in such a powerful
way before. What comes alongside
it is what will surprise you.
Along with the dread, the
hopelessness, the deep sadness
and longing and regret - if
you're courageous enough to
really feel it - comes beauty,
gratitude, acceptance and
wonder. Especially if you
breathe your way through it,
opening your heart and breathing
directly into it. I had moments
when I actually felt the shift
in me from deep grief to open
wonder. If you've never felt
that happen, let me tell you my
friends, you need to give it a
try. It will forever change your
conception of life evolving on
and on.

I have been working on ideas for
several months now for a
Kickstarter campaign.
Kickstarter.com is a crowd
funding website where you can go
with a proposal you present to
the public in hopes that the
"rewards" you offer will
encourage them to support your
endeavor financially. Often from
one dollar on up to ten thousand
dollars. There have been some
phenomenal successes there when
people have had genuinely novel
ideas or very compelling
projects they hold up to the
world. That is what I wish to
do. My next album is going to be
filled with rich songs, deep
stories and beauty, and much
wind and rain and flowing of
seasons. I'll be writing more
about this soon and, if you're
on my personal email list, (just
write me a
mt@michaeltomlinson.com)
I'll be sending you information
about it and an invitation to
take a look and see if anything
calls to you.

As
we are in the last couple of
days of summertime, I'm enjoying
the changes. There is always
some sadness when the garden
begins fading and the leaves
first start to turn. As
beautiful as it is, we have a
tendency to grieve for what is
over. But I believe the reason
Autumn was made to be so
magnificently beautiful and
striking was so that we would
see the beauty in re-dying as
well as in rebirth. I hope these
coming months are filled with
beauty for you. I wish for you
the gift of becoming your own
loving friend. Of practicing
forgiving yourself and being
kind to yourself. That is where
all the outward love begins.
Love yourself. If you can't
figure out how to do that, just
stand outside under a tree, take
some deep breaths and ask all of
Life to love you. There you go,
you've already taken a big step.